


Four Times Harry was Late...and One Time He was Late Again

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff, M/M, flangst, old fic, reposted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: Title says it all





	Four Times Harry was Late...and One Time He was Late Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](https://hd-fluff.livejournal.com/profile)[hd_fluff](https://hd-fluff.livejournal.com/)'s prompt: A Kiss at Midnight

 

 

**Year One:**

  
On their first date, Harry was half an hour late. Draco had alternated between pacing outside the Leaky Cauldron, checking his watch, casting a Tempus Charm just to re-confirm that Potter was in fact, an entire _thirty minutes late_ and then finally, huffing and walking away.

“Malfoy, wait!”

Draco stilled for a second as the shout echoed down Diagon Alley. Then he quickened his pace. He may not be the man he was before the War, but he was still a Malfoy. And nobody kept a Malfoy waiting for half an hour, it simply wasn’t done. Draco raised his chin defiantly and continued stalking down the street, ignoring Potter’s entreaties.

“Damn it, Malfoy. Hold up a second!”

A hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him back. Draco pursed his lips as Potter let go, panting and holding his side. “You...can sure...walk fast...when you want to,” Potter managed, shooting him a cheeky grin for good measure.

Draco crossed his arms. “I assume you have a good explanation.”

He did, as a matter of fact. It was a beautifully crafted tale involving Teddy Lupin, a trampoline and an ill-positioned tree branch. Draco listened— with a growing sense of disbelief and incredulity— as Potter provided his bizarre explanation over the next fifteen minutes.

“Long story short, the Healer says I’ll be fine,” Potter finished, rubbing his head ruefully. “But Andromeda won’t let us play Space Mountain anymore.”

Draco blinked dazedly, attempting to formulate an appropriate response to that. There wasn’t one. “How about this?” he finally suggested. “The next time we do this, you explain yourself in less than ten words. And if it’s good enough, I’ll let it slide.”

Potter gave it some thought. Then a small, shy grin tugged at his lips and he cocked his head. “So, there’s going to be a next time?”

Draco rolled his eyes and resumed the walk back to the Leaky Cauldron, resolutely ignoring the way Potter’s hopeful gaze made something in his chest flutter uncomfortably.

 

* * *

 

 

**Year 3:**

  
  
Draco would like to think that he was a patient man. Three years into their relationship, he was perfectly willing to accept that some things were just the way they were. Harry was always late. End of story. He could deal with that. Really, he could.

What he couldn’t deal with was Harry being _three hours_ late. Especially, when he had begged and pleaded for Draco to cook dinner. Draco had just finished reheating the Chicken Parmigiana when he heard the banging at the front door.

“Open,” he called.

Locking Harry out did not serve as a punishment. The man had been known to climb in through a fourth storey window to get at Draco’s Chicken Parmigiana. No, it made a lot more sense to let Harry in so Draco could yell at him in peace and quiet.

“I’m dying to hear your excuse this time,” he drawled as Harry shuffled in. “Mind you, you only get three words to explain yourself. One for every year we’ve been together. So you better make it good, Pot...”

He chanced a look up and the words withered away in his throat.

“Harry?” Draco whispered, abandoning the stove and hurrying over to his wrecked boyfriend. Harry didn’t waste a second. The moment Draco was within grabbing reach, he wrapped his arms around him and curled into his chest. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry in return, holding him carefully and trying to tamp down his rising sense of alarm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, running a calming hand down Harry’s back.

“October thirty first,” Harry whispered shakily. His grip on Draco tightened and the tears fell.

Oh.

Draco’s heart clenched and he pulled Harry closer. “They loved you,” he whispered. “They would have loved the man you’ve become.”

“I wish...” Harry’s breath came in a shudder but he managed to get the words out. “I wish they could have...met you.”

Draco felt tears sting his own eyes. “Me too,” he murmured.

Discreetly, he turned the stove off and led Harry to the bedroom. Dinner could wait.

 

* * *

 

 

**Year Five:**

  
  
“Honestly, where _is_ he?” Hermione grumbled, checking her watch again.

“It’s Harry,” Ron replied easily, forking into his pasta again. “He’ll get here when he gets here.”

Hermione did not think that served as an answer. She huffed in exasperation and turned to Malfoy. “Every time we do lunch, he’s late. Doesn’t it drive you mad?”

Malfoy shrugged and perused another page of _The Quibbler_ , evidently not even a little bit bothered. “I’m used to it.”

Hermione gave up and went back to scowling at her salad.

Ten minutes later, Harry bolted in, panting and holding his sides. His hair was a complete fright and he was sporting an inside-out Falmouth Falcon’s jersey.

“What in the...” Hermione began but Malfoy beat her to it.

“Five words,” he said calmly, turning another page. “Go.”

Harry paused and deliberated over that with absolute solemnity. When he spoke again, it was the oddest assortment of words Hermione had ever heard from someone who wasn’t Albus Dumbledore.

“Falcons. Backflip. _Awesome._ Broom. Barbeque?”

Hermione stared, speechless for once. Ron nudged her and whispered, “I think he’s having a stroke.”

Malfoy however, merely shrugged and pulled out another chair. “Acceptable,” he said. Harry grinned and reached over for a kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione ventured carefully. “What just happened?”

Malfoy pulled away from Harry. “He lost track of time because he was watching the Falmouth Falcons in the League Semi-Finals,” he explained with terse efficiency. “The Seeker caught the Snitch on a backflip, which was completely awesome. Then he remembered he was supposed to meet us here and the Floo was broken so he changed in a hurry— by the way, love, your jersey’s inside out— and then he flew down here. Oh, and he’s still hungry so can we get barbeque in a bit?”

Harry frowned. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

Ron stared at both of them for two entire minutes before deciding his pasta was more important. Hermione shook her head wearily and turned to Harry.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she informed him, “but you’re lucky to have him.”

Harry grinned and pulled Draco in for another kiss. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Year Six:**

  
**  
  
“I’ve got lube! Let’s have sex!”  
  
**

An awkward, mortified silence settled in the room as Harry barged in. Draco gaped in soundless horror, the china teacup hanging limply in his grasp. Sitting beside him, his mother raised an amused eyebrow.

“Good evening, Mr Potter,” Narcissa greeted with a smile. “How wonderful to see you again.”

Harry practically crumpled with mortification as she got up and kissed a still shell-shocked Draco’s cheek. “I’d best be off, darling,” she said. “Your father is waiting and it would seem you two have...plans of your own.”

She paused and patted Harry’s cheek, shaking her head in fond exasperation. “Do learn to be on time, young man.”

And with that, she was gone.

Draco sagged in the chair and held his head in his hands. Harry shuffled awkwardly in the doorway.

“So that’s a _no_ for the sex?”

He wasn’t the least bit surprised at the teacup sailing straight for his head.

 

 

* * *

  
  
**Year Nine:**

  
  
Draco smiled to himself and checked the clock again.

It was midnight.

Harry, of course, was late— a fitting start to their anniversary.

Nine years, Draco thought to himself. It had really been nine years since that one night when he stood outside the Leaky Cauldron, listening to Harry’s absurd excuses. Nine years since the first sheepish half smile, the first hesitant kiss, the first whispered _I love you_.

So many firsts— and yet some things hadn’t changed one bit. Draco was still here, waiting for Harry to come home with a bizarre explanation for why he was late.

In nine words, no less.

He chuckled to himself when the door clicked open. Harry walked in, with his messy hair and his half smile— the smile that always made Draco’s heart twist a little.

He reached over and pulled Harry in for a kiss. “Happy Anniversary,” he murmured. “Nine words. Go.”

Harry deepened the kiss for a moment and pulled away. “It took a while to find the perfect one,” he whispered softly.

Draco frowned and started to ask what that was supposed to mean when he felt something being pressed into his hand. The ring was a simple platinum band— classic elegance that spoke to him. Draco stared at it in complete shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. Harry held his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, his green eyes filled with tentative hope.

“Marry me,” he said softly. “One word. Go.”

Tears stung Draco’s eyes. His vision blurred and his hands shook and a lump swelled up in his throat. But that one word, that one _yes_ escaped him before he could even think about it. Harry laughed in sheer delight and pulled him over and kissed him soundly on the lips, at the last stroke of midnight.

In that moment, Draco knew that this was just the beginning. There would be a thousand moments that Harry would be late yet again, a thousand other times when he would burst through the door and a thousand other times that Draco would have to sit and suffer through his ridiculous excuses.

And thank Merlin for that.


End file.
